“I realize this is a hardship for you, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.Truly.”She gave him a look that she hoped projected her deep gratitude.“I owe you more than I can ever repay.And I know you don’t speak English, but I think you understand some of what I’m saying, so I hope we can move forward—if not as friends—at least as allies.”
The older man closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with a deep sigh.
She did feel sorry for him.She’d crashed into his life in a big way.Not just as a houseguest, but one who needed help getting dressed, preparing her meals, and changing her bandages.A big ask for a complete stranger whose relationship to Ford she didn’t fully understand.
Henri opened his eyes and nodded.“Okay.Truce.”
“Great!”She gave him a full-wattage smile, feeling some of her anxiety leach away.She had enough to worry about without the strain between them.“Thank you.”
Finishing the last of his coffee, he stood with his mug and plate, his head nearly brushing one of the dark wooden rafters as he dodged a rough-hewn pillar that she’d nearly collided with a dozen times.Without another word, Henri washed his dishes in the corner kitchen, gave her a silent nod, and walked upstairs.
Okay… So it was a truce and not a budding friendship.Fine.
She glanced around the quaint space.Now what?As her strength had grown over the last couple of days, she’d explored every inch of the house except the upstairs, where she presumed he had a bedroom and a bathroom of his own, since he never used hers.
So far, she hadn’t located any kind of phone, computer, or tablet.An old tube TV produced only fuzz, and all the DVDs were of black and white French films.She’d found no way to communicate with the outside world or even learn the news.
Since she couldn’t search the second floor—assuming she could even make it up a full flight of stairs—she spent much of the day sitting on the tree-shaded patio.A well-worn stack of outdated French fashion and gossip magazines provided minimal diversion.
When she tired of that, she gazed across the flower-filled garden and acres of lovely rolling green fields dotted with twisty oaks.If she weren’t stuck here, cut off and clueless, she might have found it a relaxing, if boring, place to recuperate.
She couldn’t even see another house, and it was anyone’s guess how far they were from the nearest neighbor, let alone town.So far, she’d only had the energy for her short forays around the house, but now that she felt stronger, she planned to walk as far as possible each day.And as soon as Henri left her alone, she’d venture up those stairs.
A black Citroën sat in the crushed gravel driveway out front, but it had gone unused to this point, and she hadn’t found the car keys on the main floor.Still, eventually they’d need groceries, right?
It took a few more mind-numbingly slow days of eating, walking, watching old movies she couldn’t understand, and opening every drawer in the kitchen and dining room, before her host finally left on Wednesday morning uttering the terse words, “food” and “stay” before taking off in the little car.
Unsure how long he’d be gone, she waited five minutes before leaving her spot on the patio.The last thing she needed was to get caught because he’d forgotten reusable bags or whatever.
Inside at the bottom of the stairs, she looked up and took a deep breath.Now or never.She mounted the first step, wincing as it creaked under her foot.You’re alone.It’s fine.She kept an iron grip on the timeworn handrail as she slowly continued her ascent, the air turning noticeably warmer around the halfway point.Breathing heavily by the time she reached the top, she emerged into an attic bedroom and sitting area with a bathroom through a narrow doorway.
She collapsed onto a fancy, uncomfortable sofa and looked around.The walls were butter yellow, much cozier than the stark white in her bedroom.Sunlight from the dormer window across the room cast a square of light on an Oriental rug that covered thin brown carpeting.
The effect was both formal and warm.It still felt impersonal, though.The only clue to the room’s occupant was a silver frame on the bedside table showcasing an attractive woman in her sixties with a wide smile.
Natalie knew Henri was in hiding and that he was a doctor, and not much else.How long had he been here?Had he left family behind?Did the world think he was dead too, or had he just gone missing?
She frowned.No wonder he was angry.Ford bringing her here had probably jeopardized Henri’s safety, and had definitely invaded his privacy.She’d be pissed too.But he had to be lonely on his own, unable to confide in anyone, unable to risk making real friends.Something they could commiserate about if they shared a language.At some point, it should be safe for her to “come back to life,” but what about Henri?
“Okay, enough depressing thoughts.”Using her good arm, she pushed herself to her feet and scanned the room.“If I had a computer, where would I put it?”Hell, she’d take a phone.Anything with Internet or cell service.As far as she could tell, he didn’t carry a mobile phone, but maybe he just hid it well.What she really needed to find was an extra car key so she could investigate the little Citroën after he’d gone to bed.
For now, she started with the tall, wooden wardrobe, quickly riffling through the hangers of shirts and pants, and sweaters that felt too optimistic given the current heat.Maybe he planned to stay awhile.Pessimisticthen.Four pairs of shoes stood in a neat line below the clothing, and she wrinkled her nose as she stuck her hand into each one.Nada.
Next, she crouched next to his bed and peered under the brass frame, spotting nothing, not even dust bunnies.For the next twenty minutes—to the best of her limited ability—she searched the space between his mattress and spring, two trunks, and a dresser.She’d even checked behind the oil paintings on the wall, inside the framed photo, and between the pages of the paperbacks stacked on his bedside table.
The trunks contained only blankets and bedding, and she felt like a total lowlife going through his literal and figurative drawers.Repaying Henri’s care, reluctant as it was, by thoroughly violating his privacy made her feel like a creep.There hadn’t been anything personal in the room beyond his boxers—no letters or notes or documents—but it didn’t matter.She knew exactly how an invasion felt.
Normally she could justify crossing the line a little when the goal was taking down a predator like Renfro Warner or Remy Blaze, but as far as she knew, Henri was one of the good guys.Ford wouldn’t help him otherwise.
Nerves fluttered in her gut and sweat prickled at her hairline, but she didn’t dare open the windows to let in the breeze that rustled the trees outside.
Sudden thirst drove her into the small bathroom.Turning on the tap at the pedestal sink, she took several gulps of water from her cupped hand, which she rubbed dry on her pants to avoid disturbing his towel.Straightening, she studied the stuffy, windowless space.Like most European bathrooms she’d seen, the stand-up shower had a handheld sprayer, and the toilet was attached to the wall.
Natalie opened the medicine cabinet above the sink.Inside she found a couple of prescription bottles printed in French with the name Marc Durand, and the usual toiletries.Nothing of note.
Maybe he’d taken both car keys with him.Probably the phone too, if there was one.She’d found no evidence of a computer or tablet, so what the hell did the guy do up here all day to keep himself from going out of his mind?
A faint creak came from the bedroom, and she whirled to find the man in question standing on the Oriental rug, face flushed, blue eyes narrowed.Her heart leapt into her throat.Oh, shit.
